


untitled (Castiel)

by Guu



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Character Study, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-15
Updated: 2014-03-15
Packaged: 2018-01-15 20:36:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1318363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guu/pseuds/Guu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel knows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	untitled (Castiel)

This is an exercise in futility, Castiel knows.

He stands, naked, in front of the motel's door mirror, and contemplates the body he now inhabits. It isn't too big or too small, frame average sized, muscular but taut, sharp collarbones and over-developped calves. Strong chin, big hands. Large feet. A little bit on the hairy side, especially on the crotch. He brings one hand to the—to  _his_ chest and places his plam, flat and warm, against his heart. This body is now his, and he knows what it feels like to live in it, to tire in it, to hunger with all its might.

His hand goes down, thumb caressing ribs, belly, his waist. He trails the patch of hair going toward his groin and tangles his fingers around the soft curls of dark hair. It's funny, he thinks, observing the rise and fall of his human chest, how the body doesn't forget.

He doesn't tire or hunger anymore. He doesn't need to sleep, to be held. But the body asks for respite. His bones ache for rest, his skin begs for warmth.

He is less, Castiel knows.

He lives on borrowed grace, exists on borrowed time. He doesn't fit anywhere, yearns for things he doesn't know. He is incomplete in both his holiness and his humanity. He knows so much and understands so little.

He is Castiel, and he might be this body or he might not, but for now it's all he has, so he watches himself, learns the little things he had never bothered to care about before.

There is a mole over his nipple, his sides tickle if he touches them too softly. His hair is thinner around his forehead and if he squints he can spot a a dash of silver or two. His eyelids are asymetric. His palms itched, that day, at the bunker, when Dean offered him food and shelter, before he was cast out. They itched for something solid, something warm.

He got neither.

Castiel is half an angel; this he also knows.

He get restless and exhausted; every once in a while he needs to stop. Rest. Eat. His body doesn't crave for food but his mind does; a part of him still believes he is human.

And maybe he is, maybe he's not.

Castiel is just Castiel, but who that is, Castiel doesn't really know.

So he stands, naked, alone in a motel room, and hopes, and hopes, and hopes.


End file.
